


Blue Lights

by lurrel



Category: Actor RPF
Genre: Alien Invasion, Apocalypse, F/F, Misses Clause Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-25
Updated: 2011-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-28 03:35:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/303291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lurrel/pseuds/lurrel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aliens don't make them do it. But they help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blue Lights

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sansets](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sansets/gifts).



“I just don’t know if rollerskates are the best way to protect oneself in the face of the oncoming apocalypse.” Emma does not say that part of her trepidation is due to having not laced up a pair of skates since a disastrous hill injury at age seven.

Ellen looks up from where she’s sitting on the floor, tightening up her laces. She frowns. “Oh, you have a better suggestion?”

“I mean, at least we had a Hummer in _Zombieland_.”

Ellen pulls herself up, steadier than she has any right to be, and with the skates she’s only about half a head shorter. “Get this straight, Em. This isn’t a movie. It’s real fucking life.”

“Besides,” Ellen says as she starts strapping her backpack of supplies on, “do you even own a Hummer? I thought you were above that kind of crass consumerism.”

Emma scowls. Ellen bites back a smile.

\--

Emma’s thighs hurt by late evening, but she has to admit that they’d managed to avoid attracting any of the Bugs that have hovered over the state of California for the past six days. She’d flung herself into Ellen at one point when a car, racing down the road in a panic, had exploded. They'd landed in a jumble of limbs, breathing heavy, and it took a long time to get moving again.

“Have you managed to get through to Jesse?” Ellen asks. “I don’t want to sleep outside.”

Jesse Eisenberg doesn’t have a Hummer, either, but he’d managed to get out and was hunkered down across the world with Andrew Garfield. He’s been texting her routes to escape, discovered through judicious monitoring of all major cable networks and Google Earth.

“I don’t know if he’s found us a safehouse. I think he’s still convinced we’re all the heroes in _Night of the Comet_ so maybe we should break into a mall.”

Ellen laughs, and starts to unbuckle her sleeping bag from her kit. “I never thought I’d learn something from all those eighties apocalypse films. We'll keep our shopping mall breaking-and-entering plans open."

Ever since the power plants had taken a few bug hits, the city was in a permanent state of rolling brownouts. They set up a tarp on the ground, and it’d be a romantic outing if they weren’t terrified of being vaporized.

She can’t help but say as much. “At least now you can see the stars, huh?”

Ellen looks at her sharply, but doesn’t comment. Doesn’t even frown. Maybe even smirks.

It's chilly enough to share a sleeping bag, with Emma's unzipped and draped over them.

\--

The Bugs had come with no particular preamble, and only to California. Most of Hollywood’s best and brightest helicoptored out as fast as they could, in the days before the Bugs started monitoring air traffic and exploding anything that could fly.

Emma didn’t, though. She’s always been kind of a skeptic. Maybe it was promo for a new Tom Cruise movie, like that city in Spain that let itself be painted Smurf blue for the release of that movie.

It turns out there wasn’t a new Tom Cruise movie, that she was suddenly living in a Tom Cruise movie about giant, impassive bugs that liked blowing shit up.

She wasn’t sure what to do until her phone rang.

\--

Ellen Page was mostly impressed that Emma Stone owned a satellite phone, because she was the only contact in her list that picked up. Not that she was too high on the list. Only in the top five. Definitely not number three.

“Oh thank god,” is what Ellen said, and then “Meet me at the props warehouse on Fox Studio Lot B. Bring supplies.”

She was nervous that she’d be stood up, but Emma was there, looking nervous with a folding shopping cart full of bottled water and a sleeping bag. Looking surprisingly, enticingly blonde.

\--

The second night outside isn’t as terrifying as the first, because they’ve made it out to the suburbs, or at least, not downtown. The Bug presence has been thickest over the most urban areas, according to Ellen’s handcranked radio. The props warehouse she’d picked was full of survival gear, but the costumes were too much sexy action girl, not enough survivalism, so they’re just in jeans and sweatshirts and skates.

“You don’t want the cropped leather jacket with chain mail bra?” Emma asked, holding up the hanger.

“Only if you wear the leather body suit,” Ellen said, “and the high heels. We gotta have heels.”

“Perfect for fleeing from danger,” Emma says and decides against the latex hot pants. "Hopefully someone in a superhero costume will sweep us off our impractically shod feet."

"I left my cape at home," Ellen says and looks a little mournful.

In the eerie lights thrown off by Bugs, it only makes sense to fall asleep with hands tightly clasped, like otters, making sure if one of them is taken the other will be sure to follow.

\--

The third night is even more comfortable, because Jesse manages to send them to a strip of townhouses where they charge their phones in twenty minute intervals when the power flickers on.

There’s only one bed, which frankly suits Emma just fine. Ellen's soft and even snoring helps drown out the droning whirr of Bugs as they travel in a slow loop around the city, searching for landmarks and vehicles to blow up.

Emma pulls the covers all the way up to her chin and wonders who thought the bright pink flower pattern was a great idea. Ellen grabs her hand. “I’m glad you picked up the phone.”

“I’m not glad you decided to make us rollerskate to freedom,” she responds, but she squeezes Ellen’s hand anyway.

“I am an excellent masseur for all your sore leg needs,” Ellen says, and squeezes her thigh under the sheets.

Emma presses a kiss on the side of Ellen’s mouth. “Okay. A little glad.”

The low hum of Bugs flying slowly overhead is less ominous than it should be.

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't not write this after reading your request. Title from a Pretty Girls Make Graves song (appropriate band is appropriate) <3


End file.
